Anniversary
by littlechivalry
Summary: An OC Crossover. What happens a year later? Chapter 15 up, this story is complete.
1. Paper

**Disclaimer**: I don't own a damn thing. Well, my cd collection is pretty bitchin', but other than that… The characters and ideas herein presented belong to others. I'm just borrowing.

**Author's Note**: I got the idea for this story a few months ago when I had the flu. Under the influence of a high fever and rather a lot of Cherry Nyquil, I dreamed the premise for this, and it wouldn't let me go. So, if you don't like it, blame the rotgut.

**ANNIVERSARY **

**CH. 1 Paper**

Seth had been shot. A piece of metal had been propelled at a high velocity _into_ him. Not like Luke, he only got winged like a bullet, and milked it back into a relationship with Marissa.

No, Seth had been shot, right in the stomach, and since he didn't feel like reaching around to find out, he was going to assume that the bullet was still inside him, thank you very much.

_(Howthedevildoyoudoscenebreaks?)_

The trip back from Portland had taken a while, bus trips always do, but Ryan had refused to get back on a plane. Considering how scared the boy was of heights, Seth was touched and flattered by the fact that Ryan had flown in the first place. Plus, after exchanging plane tickets for bus, there was plenty of cash left over for snacks, and possibly comics.

A short stop in Chino before they got back to the 'rents, just need to get Ryan's stuff and go.

Theresa's house was empty. The furniture and stuff were there, but the air was dry, stale. It looked like Theresa and her mother were only gone for a while, but the small, crowded space, echoed, howled loneliness.

But maybe Seth was being over-dramatic.

Two cardboard boxes were packed and waiting by the front door, but Seth followed Ryan further into the house, to a small room, hardly larger than a closet.

Ryan had been quiet since Theresa's phone call. He'd relaxed a little on the bus, talking about the upcoming school year, teasing Seth about how bad Summer was going to kick his ass, but as they approached California, he got quieter. By the time the bus stopped in Chino, he hadn't spoken for an hour.

It was hard for Seth to go that long without talking, but he'd managed.

Ryan stood in the doorway of the little room, and Seth waited just behind him, for once, completely without words. For the first time in his life, there was nothing to say, no joke or change of subject, so he waited, watching dust motes dance through beams of late afternoon sun. Seth was surprised there was sunshine in Chino.

_(Seriously,I'mnotkidding.)_

And now Seth was shot, much worse than that pussy Luke Ward. Ryan was somewhere nearby, probably. Since the sun went down, Seth couldn't see his brother anywhere, and the boy had stopped making any noise. Seth wasn't sure if the absence of groans was good or bad. He didn't want to hear the sounds of pain, but now he wasn't sure if Ryan was alive. _Of course he's alive. He's being stealth, that's all. Waiting to be sure those guys are gone, then it's Ryan_ _to the rescue._

He planted his hand, trying to get the leverage to stand, or at least sit up. The ground was wet. Had it been raining? Did it rain in Chino? Maybe it was tears. He thought he'd heard crying earlier, but he didn't say anything then. Seth didn't have much of a tough guy reputation, but he knew enough about the Man Code to know that if you cry, you keep your mouth shut.

_(Thisisgettingridiculous.)_

_ The crow watched the proceedings with an impartial eye. One young boy weeping red blood onto green grass. Shadow spreading into shadow under the sputtering streetlights._

_ Paramedics surrounded the other boy like carrion birds._

_ Neither teen would last night. Their lives were racing the dawn._

"Seth? No. Get off me!" The boy, exhausted by the shout, collapsed back onto the ground, gasping, "You have to help Seth. Shot," then slipping into unconsciousness.

Other voices, strange voices. "We've got a pulse, but it's there. Severely beaten, multiple fractures, probable internal bleeding, and if this rib hasn't punctured a lung, it's going to."

"The other one?"

"Two shots to the abdomen. Bled out, but we're gonna drive him in anyway. Helps the parents to know their kid died in a hospital, not on a street."

_(JustpretendI'mnothere.)  
_

_ The crow was wrong. Ryan lasted another day._

** Note**: Okay, that's chapter one. An OC/Crow crossover. Love it or hate it, let me know. I love the attention, reviews are my crack.

And if you want to read any more of this story, you have to review. Only the first taste is free.

Incidentally, if any of you know how to format scene breaks, let me know. There's nothing like an air of quiet desparation expressed through tiny personal notes to take you away from a good story.


	2. Cotton

**Author's Note**: I just wanted to say "Hey" to **DerSaboteur**, my beta, and **D'Eve** and **Garble**, my back-up dancers. Also, this is AU from the start of the second season, so if some characters seem wildly out-of-character, just run with it. 

ANNIVERSARY CH. 2 COTTON

A young woman stood over the two graves. She wasn't crying, she'd deny it to anyone. Her black hair hung lank, weighed down by the humidity. Her eyes were as dark as the bags underneath them. This wasn't her first visit to the graves, but every time felt like the first time. Seeing those names carved into cold stone was a fresh shock no matter how often she came.

At first, she could barely bring herself to visit them. After the funeral, after everyone said their good-byes, she stayed away. Away from the graves, away from everyone and everywhere that would remind her of who had been lost. After a few weeks, she came with the Cohens, to put some flowers down, clear away the dead leaves.

It was nice, in a way. Peaceful. She started to come by herself, cleaning the graves, then sitting on a worn blanket between them. Sometimes she spoke to them, the boys, mostly she just enjoyed the silence.

After a few months, she noticed the sun was shining, and someone was listening to music and she felt better. Not happy, but better. She finally felt capable of making a few goals besides, "Get through today," and "Don't fall apart."

She still visited, as often as she could, and today was the second in a week, but it couldn't be helped. It was a special occasion.

"I can't believe it's been a year." She settled onto the grass, it was still cool from the early morning rain, but the sun had dried it. "I don't mean that. It's not that the time went so fast, it's just that… Where did it go? You were just here.

I can't stay long today. Not that I don't want to," she smiled sadly at the mounds of earth, "But I'm not your only visitor. I just wanted to say that, if you guys have met God, then I'm sure Seth is talking him to death and Ryan is right there backing him up, then ask Him to watch out for Sandy and Kirsten. They're taking this really hard. I'm—we're trying to be there for them, and they're getting better, but it's hard. To lose both of your children at once."

The girl turned towards the couple behind her. They had stayed back, out of hearing range, to let her speak, but now they came forward

The woman set a white rose on each grave. Pale and blonde, she seemed to glow in the mid-afternoon light. The same shadows that haunted the dark-haired young woman, ghosted under Kirsten's eyes. Stifling a sob, she turned back to her husband, half-collapsing in his arms. Sandy held her, tight. The year had gone slowly for him, the strain of grieving, or not grieving and supporting Kirsten as she fell apart, showed through. He was still strong, but the twinkle in his eyes had faded, tamped out like a flame, lingering as a pale ember.

Their boys were gone. This time, they wouldn't come back.

Tangled together, the slight woman clutching on to her husband like a life preserver, they walked back to the car. Hugging herself tightly, eyes half-closed against the sun, the dark-haired woman followed them.

(_Scenebreak.Just theonethistime.)_

In the shadows, another watched them. Close enough to hear, but tucked out of sight in the shadow of a cool stone mausoleum, she wanted to weep with them. She wanted to rush out of the darkness and join them, talk about these boys and laugh and cry, and say good-bye with the only other people on earth who cared.

She'd sat there all day, watching mourners walk back and forth over the perfectly manicured grass. Most of the visitors to the cemetery were the same, somber, dressed in black; they spoke in quiet voices, not wanting to disturb the dead.

Sometimes children came, to visit grandparents or parents, or siblings, taken too soon. Everyone was taken too soon. Unlike their parents, all of the adults, children didn't understand this was a place to be quiet. They played around the head stones, running, hiding, and shrieking with laughter. She smiled to watch them, even as their parents scolded them. Children didn't understand death, but that was okay. They weren't supposed to.

Not many people had come to these two graves. Luke and Anna came in the early morning. The mist was just burning off and everything sparkled a little. Luke poured half a beer over each grave. When he collapsed, crying, to the grass, Anna rubbed his back, saying something soft and low, that the girl watching them couldn't quite make out.

They left shortly after, Anna's slender arm gracefully draped over Luke's broad shoulders. In the early morning, and after more than a few sleepless nights, they looked like a pixie comforting a bear, and the watcher had to stifle a snort.

A few hours later, a faded blonde came by, sloppy and staggering, she wept over Ryan's grave. She collapsed, because of the grief, or a hangover, but no one was around. No one comforted her. No one picked Dawn up.

As soon as she was gone, as if they'd timed it for maximum efficiency, Julie and Caleb came by and stiffly set two bouquets on the graves. Saying a few brief, uncomfortable words as Julie dabbed delicately at her mascara, Caleb became a bit choked up. Unlike the earlier visitors, he held himself together, and the two of them walked away.

She sat there as the day aged, watching people come and go. No one else to visit Ryan and Seth until their family came. After they left, the day slipped into night, and suddenly, it was a year.

She expected the moment to feel different, a change in the air, a flash of lightning, but nothing happened. The hands her watch kept ticking and the world didn't change. Finally, she walked up the graves herself. In one was the boy she loved, and in the other, his brother, or as close as he ever had.

If anything was going to happen, it would happen soon. She spread her blanket at the foot of the graves and waited, and as the earth over one body began to shift, tears sparkled in her eyes.

"It's about damn time, Cohen," Summer Roberts said.

**Note, again**: I wanted to thank my lovely reviewers, and everyone who read the story and didn't review. Unfortunately, I do the same thing. We're naughty.

But, as I am a whore for attention, I am forced to do something drastic. I demand that you review me, or…. Well, crap. Really can't think of anything. I'd refuse to go to work, but that's really more to your benefit as I'd have time to write.

Review anyway? Thanks.


	3. Leather

**Disclaimer- **Again, I own bupkes. Well, I did find a bitchin' green corduroy blazer yesterday. But that doesn't really count.

**ANNIVERSARY 3 LEATHER**

When the boy woke up, the room was flooded with light. All of the pool house windows were open, a full spectrum view of everything outside.

He got up slowly, stretching. Stiff, and sore, he thought he must have slept funny, in an awkward position. As he left the pool house and walked towards the house, the sun reflected off of the pool and the furniture, turning everything into unreal, abstract shapes.

He knew this house, this yard. Everything was familiar, yet at the same time, it felt different. If asked, he couldn't name the difference; maybe it was something in the air.

Walking into the living room, he saw a familiar boy sitting in front of the television, playing a video game.

"Hey."

"Hey," he replied. Running a hand through his messy brown curls, Seth sat down next to Ryan.

"You want to play? Grand Theft Auto. Not sure which one."

"We've been here before, right? This isn't new." Seth was confused. The last time the two of them were here, like this, it was the other way around. But now Ryan seemed more at home in Seth's house than he did.

"Yeah, in a way. Inside every beginning is an ending. You have to go back to where you started."

"Ryan, when did you go all 'Mystical guide' on me?"

"Can't help it, man. Been here before."

"Okay, when you say that, what do you mean? This is the house, but it's not. What's going on, Ryan? The last thing I remember is Theresa's place."

Ryan stood up, putting the video game controller on the floor. Seth followed him into the kitchen. Fishing around in the refrigerator, Ryan said, "We were there, and now we're here. I'm telling you as much as I can." He handed Seth a bottle of juice.

Seth set it down on the counter. "What is that supposed to mean? 'As much as you can'? Are you a spy now, Ryan," Seth demanded.

Ryan began breathing harder. He turned away, and staring out the window over the sink, he said, "We're dead, Seth. Is that what you wanted to hear? We died. We were killed. I don't know the details. Being here makes everything farther away, softer. It happened, and now it's over. Soon, I won't remember it, and neither will you. Let's just go play a video game."

"The hell I won't, man. We were killed. Someone killed us. My God, do Sandy and Kirsten know? What about Summer? Who did this, do you know? Because if you know, and you're not telling me—"

Seth stopped short as Ryan collapsed onto a stool, his breath now coming in harsh gasps, gripping the counter so tightly his knuckles were white. "Are you okay, Ryan? Seth reached out to the teen, "Calm down man. We're dead. You can't get upset."

Taking a slow, shuddering breath, Ryan straightened up, "Look. I don't know what happened. I don't care. I've been expecting this for a long time, and now that I'm here, I'm not leaving again."

"Again, Ryan? You were dead before?"

"I don't want to talk about it, now do you want to play or not?"

"I-- I don't think I can. I didn't finish something. I don't know-- I had to do something. I have to do something."

"You could stay here, man. There's satellite." Ryan flashed a sad half-smile.

I can't stay. I know I have to, but there's something…"

"I know. You have to go back and do something. It's not new. I'll wait." Ryan absently twisted the leather cuff on his wrist.

"I'm coming back, Ryan. I'm not abandoning you, not this time."

" I know." Ryan cracked open his juice bottle, settling more comfortable on the kitchen stool. "I'll wait right here, we can finish the game when you get back."

Seth nodded at his brother. He put his juice down and walked to the door. Stepping out into the day, the light started flashing.

Too bright, too sharp. He turned to go back into the house, but it was too late. Suddenly darkness and pain washed over him. He grabbed his stomach as a warm voice said, "It's about damn time, Cohen."

_People once believed that when someone dies, a Crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes, the Crow can bring the soul back to put the wrong things right._

**Author's Note**: I'm so sorry it's taken so long to update this. The real world got a little hectic. Stupid real world. Again, this is an OC/Crow crossover. If you're still not sure what's going on, you'll just have to trust me.

And, really, I only got two reviews on the last chapter. I need a little more validation than that.


	4. Linen

Disclaimer: I still don't own The O.C. or The Crow. Darn it. 

(**A/N** to follow chapter.)

ANNIVERSARY CH 4 LINEN

Whitefingers clawed away at the dark earth, falling away to reveal a pale, confused boy.

Summer reached for his hand, to help him out, but Seth snatched it away before they could touch. Staring at her suspiciously, he dragged himself free, and stood, carefully.

Summer took a moment to see him, outlined inweak yellow light from the electric torches arranged around the cemetery. For a second, the length of a memory, it was last year again, both of the boys were alive, and Seth was still her boyfriend. If she looked past the dirt, he didn't even look that different, messy hair, a wrinkled suit, and he was just Cohen.

Looking everywhere but at her, lost and confused, he had one hand pressed to his stomach, where a bullet still resided.

His mouth was open, and he was gasping, Summer fought the urge to giggle. _After all,_ _he hasn't taken a breath in a year. _The stifled giggle turned into a choked sob before she could stop herself, and he turned his attention to her.

"Hey, Seth." She spoke slowly, her voice soft, as if he were a wounded animal. "I wasn't sure this would even work, but considering what happened, I figured the chances were pretty good. I never told anybody, because they would have thought I was crazy. Thank goodness you made me read all those comics, huh?" Summer was babbling, she knew she was, but it wasn't every day she was confronted with the reanimated corpse of her boyfriend.

He stumbled towards her. In the slanting lamp-light, Summer though she might have seen a smile flicker across his mouth, and she took hope from that. Still talking, she moved towards him, slowly, carefully, "Remember those comics? And we discussed the myths behind them? Crows? I figured there might be a chance. A billion to one, but if anybody could be a Crow, it would be you. After they killed you, and the way they killed Ryan."

Saying Ryan's name must have triggered something in the boy because suddenly awareness snapped into his eyes. He turned back towards the headstones, staggered over to them, carefully stepping over the disturbed earth of his abandoned grave.

With trembling fingers, he traced the words

**RYAN ATWOOD-COHEN**

**10-7-1989 TO 7-23-2005**

**BELOVED SON AND BROTHER**

"He died a day after you, in the hospital. He didn't wake up, but at least Sandy and Kirsten got to say their good-byes."

Summer looked over at the other stone. The same note, **BELOVED SON AND** **BROTHER**, didn't nearly do Cohen justice. But, you couldn't fit a whole lifetime on a headstone, and maybe those four words were enough.

A stone urn full of fresh flowers sat between the two stones, on the side it read, "**They** **will be missed**." There really wasn't any more to say.

Lost in thought, at first Summer didn't see Seth walk away, across the grounds. Catching up to him, and remembering his earlier response to her touch, she kept her hands away from him, "Where are you going, Seth?"

Silently, he walked on. She followed, unsettled. Of all people, Seth was never the quiet one, and the fact that he hadn't spoken since rising unnerved her.

They left the cemetery grounds and walked into the street. Seth seemed not to see the traffic. Cars driving by swerved to avoid the boy. Summer bit back a smile at that. She wondered what the drivers must think of them, a girl dressed in black trailing behind a pale boy in a torn suit covered in dirt as they passed a cemetery. She thought they might end up an urban legend, the old Seth would have laughed, but the new Seth?

Still, she had to say something, "Seth, what do think those drivers—"

"Summer."

His quiet voice stopped her in her tracks. After walking a bit further, Seth must have realized she wasn't following anymore because he turned around.

"Are you coming?"

Shaken, she said the first thing that came to mind, "I thought you couldn't talk."

"Nothing to say."

Summer cracked a small half-smile. "You know, you sound just like Ryan—"

Seth's eyes darkened, and Summer swallowed the rest of her sentence.

Seth turned away and started walking again, Summer followed him. What else could she do?

Walking through Orange County in the dark, familiar landmarks turned sinister. Of course, it wasn't the first time Summer was wandering around at night, over the past year she'd avoided people, and found it was more peaceful after sunset. But with Seth, her boyfriend Seth, who up until less than an hour previous had been dead, things took on a haunted air, the ghosts of memory waited to lunge at her.

She was so wrapped up in this, she missed what Seth said.

"What? You said something?"

"Nothing."

Walking behind the boy, she couldn't see him, but she could almost swear she heard a smile in his voice. "I know you said something, and since you've only said, like, eight words so far, I don't want to miss it."

"Who?"

"Who? Who what, Seth? You have to give me more than that."

"Who did it, Summer? Who killed us?"

This time, Seth was the one that froze. Summer slowed down behind him. There were a lot of ways to answer this. He was delicate right now, the wrong answer and anything could happen.

"Who, Summer? You know why."

"Yeah, I know why. Okay, the truth is, no one knows. We tried. Sandy tried. So hard. The police, private investigators. But there was nothing. Tips went nowhere, leads dried up. You know, Caleb even offered a reward for information. Lots of people called up after that, but nothing. The only people who know what happened are you and R- you guys."

Summer stood behind Seth, wanting nothing more than to put her arms around him. But there was no time for that. It's not what he came back for.

"I don't know."

The hollow sound of his voice startled her. He sounded so lost, confused.

"But, you were there, Seth. They shot you. You must have seen?"

He turned to her, her eyes were caught in his. "I don't know who killed us. But I'm going to find out. Then, they're going to die."

With that, he set off walking again. He knew where he was going, and she followed along. There was a lot to do.

**Author's Note: **I'm sorry it took me so long to update. I could blame work, or my commute, for being soul- and creativity-killing, but the truth is, I'm just a lazy procrastinator. I'm going to try and update at least once a week, and that's about the best offer I can make.

One thing that would help would be more reviews. If I'm coming off as a bit desperate, it's only because I am. I got one review for the previous chapter (Thank you, by the way, **cdgeiger**) and it's disheartening.

Yesterday I wrote a long, bitter postscript about the lack of reviews and how bummed I get checking my e-mail. Part of my being upset might be that our internet provider crashed for, like, all of yesterday, but nyway. This morning I checked my e-mail like usual and found two more reviews for this story. That and the fact that My Chemical Romance has posted the new video for their song "The Ghost of You," have made me a very happy camper. So, here I am, chipper as the day is long.

I'm going to finish this story, though it may take a while, whether people review or not, but please review.

Love it, hate it? Don't care. I'm just a complete whore for attention. _smiles._


	5. Wood

**Author's Note:** I wanted to thank **cdgeiger** for (his/her? Sorry. Your screen name doesn't easily lead to gender-based pronouns.) their suggestion. Since changing my rating to "T", I've received more reviews. Which makes me happy. However, I will re-up the rating, should this get more violent. 

**Disclaimer:** If I owned anything, I wouldn't still be temping.

**ANNIVERSARY CH 5- Wood**

Stopping short, Summer called out to him. "Where the hell are we going, Cohen?"

"Back to where it started."

Softer, she said, "Theresa's?"

"Pool house."

"That's miles from here. I left my car at the cemetery, let's go back. I'm not even sure where the hell we are."

Trying to get her bearings, Summer looked around. They hadn't been walking long, but the familiar landscape of café's and trendy stores had melted into a more threatening vista of liquor stores and pawn shops.

"Where the hell are we, Cohen?"

"Wouldn't know."

The old Cohen would be smirking now, the new one just stood there, a silhouette haloed in neon from the nearby strip club.

Summer fished around for the cell phone in her black shoulder bag. Somewhere in a jumble of candy wrappers, tissues, and scraps of paper was contact with a world that made sense, more sense than the one she was in, walking through the bad part of Newport with her dead boyfriend.

Finally finding the cool plastic case under her fingers, she pulled it out, "I'll just call—"

"You're not calling anyone, chica."

The voice came from the shadows. Melting out of the darkness were six men, boys really, but the knives they were holding made them look older.

"What do you have in that fancy purse, girl?"

For a second, Summer's mind dragged her away to the old Cohen, who, at this point, would probably have made a joke about a thug knowing good bags. Then they would definitely have been killed.

It would be better than the new one, standing quietly in the face of a mugging. Not quietly, Summer realized. Waiting.

He didn't have to wait long. One of the men, impatient, grabbed Summer's bag. She let it go. There wasn't much in there, and if he wanted a Louis Vuitton that badly, she wasn't going to stand in his way.

Turning it over, the man dumped the contents on the ground. Fishing through the detritus, he turned to the first speaker, the leader, "There's nothing in here."

The leader stepped farther into the circle of street light, closer to Summer. Looking at her, he said, "You mean to tell me Princess is broke? Now, I don't believe that."

Turning his attention to Cohen, he said, "How about you, boyfriend? Wallet? Fancy watch? I bet you're wearing a Rolex."

He reached out fast, and grabbed Seth's wrist. Summer, remembering the boy's response in the cemetery, just watched, her eyes wide.

Seth did nothing. He said nothing.

Impatiently, the thug pushed back his sleeve, and a gold band flashed.

"Well, this is better than nothing, I guess. But I have to say I'm disappointed. I expected more. Guess we'll have to make the best of things."

Summer squeaked, though she would deny it, as strong arms came up and grabbed her from behind. Another anonymous hand covered her mouth, she could taste salt and dirt.

"Let her go."

Summer felt the grip on her arms loosen at Cohen's words. She just prayed that all of the myths and comics had some basis in fact or they were dead.

"I'm not scared, Rich Boy."

"You probably should be," Seth's voice was calm, sober.

"Why is that?"

"The world is a dangerous place."

"That's a good lesson. I will keep that in mind. Now, if you don't mind, we have some business to finish with your little girlfriend."

Summer felt the arms around her tighten again, and she was being pulled towards the darkness. She wanted to close her eyes, just give in, but she couldn't. She felt responsible for bringing Cohen back, she had to be sure he would finish what was started.

The thug swung at Cohen, but the boy just stepped out of the way. He was in no hurry, dodging most of the blows. One finally connected, throwing him to the ground at the mouth of an alley.

When Cohen got back up he was holding a two by four. Two lazy practice swings, then he cracked it over the other man's head. There was no expression on his face, nothing to show he'd just broken someone open.

Cohen was standing over the gang leader with a broken board in his hands. Silently, he met the gazes of the rest of the gang one by one. Frozen in disbelief that this rich boy had the nerve, they just stared.

Suddenly, Seth smiled. No, he grinned, white teeth flashing. He rushed towards Summer, and she closed her eyes as she was thrown to the ground. Opening them again, she saw that somehow Cohen had jumped over her and tackled the guy holding her. Stunned by the impact, the thug was a few seconds too slow in rising, Seth got up first and started kicking his prone adversary in the stomach.

He kicked and kicked, the grin wider, insane. His rhythm got tighter, faster, with hardly any pause between impacts, finally, he delivered a last kick to the man's head. Then he turned towards the others.

Summer scuttled away as fast as she could, but not too far away. She had to see what was happening. The other four gang members had watched what happened to the first two. Together, they rushed Seth.

They finally remembered they had knives, because the first one to reach Cohen stabbed him, deep, in the stomach. Seth crumpled to the ground, arms clasped around his mid-section. The thugs stood over him, curled up on the asphalt. Summer watched him, he wasn't supposed to get hurt. He wasn't supposed to be able to get hurt, that was part of the deal.

She noticed his shoulders shaking. Blood covered hands came up and covered his face. He whimpered, from the pain, the shock. He whimpered again, shorter, a higher sound, then again.

Summer fought a hysterical smile. He was laughing.

He stood up slowly, handprints of blood turning his face onto a macabre mask, a death's head. And he laughed.

"Stupid, you're so stupid."

Summer let out a sharp breath. She was afraid she would start laughing herself, and she didn't want to. She knew, if she started to laugh, she would never stop. Same for crying, but she couldn't help a few, misty tears from welling up in her eyes as she watched Cohen decimate the gang.

After watching Cohen stand up, unwounded, yet covered in his own blood, and laughing like the worst nightmare any of them had ever had, there wasn't much fight left in them. Their main concern was getting away, but they never had the time.

Getting to her feet, and carefully avoiding the broken bodies laid out on the asphalt, Summer reached out towards Cohen's arm. Keeping her hand just off of him, she said, "We have to go, Cohen."

The maniacal grin had faded away, leaving the neutral, vacant expression she had gotten used to.

"Come on, Cohen. Promises to keep, remember. That's how it works."

**A/N:** Normally, this is where I beg for reviews. Well, I'm a creature of habit, so please review. Please. Seriously. Not Kidding. Review. I mean, or don't. You don't have to. But it would be nice if you did. But it's really up to you.

If you want to avoid more passive-aggressive blather, please review.


	6. Iron

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

(_12345_)

**ANNIVERSARY **

**Chapter 6- Iron**

The ride to the Cohen's house took less than ah hour, but it felt like forever to Summer. The familiar strains of Death Cab only emphasized the silence, the idea that nothing was the same.

_But then, nothing's been the same for a year. It's at the point where feeling strange is normal._

She looked over at Cohen. Most of the blood on his face had dried and flaked away, but enough was caked around his eyes that, in the dim light of the car, she couldn't see his expression.

Summer had given up trying to get him to talk.

They went around the main house, slipping quietly through the bushes to the pool house in the rear. Seth jerked at the door handle as Summer fished around for the keys, babbling, half under her breath. He wasn't listening, didn't seem to care when some words surfaced from the stream, "Started locking it… Media… Those guys are sharks… Had to make two sets…"

Finally opening the door, she led him in, "Follow me, this place is like a maze. All the boxes. Marissa said Goodwill, but Kirsten? So we kept it. Everything. Mostly. I think. I come here. Sometimes. A lot. Sit behind the boxes and think. Listen to music."

All of the furniture was covered in white sheets. Cardboard boxes were stacked everywhere, but it didn't seem like enough. Not enough for two lives. Summer had gotten a copy of the spare after everything was moved. Sometimes she spent the day in the small space, breathing in the scent of cardboard, listening to "Cohen music."

But now it was too much. Being there, surrounded by those things, with the boy she loved. It was overwhelming, and she couldn't breathe.

"Listen, I'm going outside. I need a smoke. You just do… whatever it is you need to do here."

Cohen wasn't looking at her, he was running blood stained fingers over the boxes, leaving dusty marks behind. She made sure the blinds were closed, and the light inside wasn't enough to throw a shadow, and then she stepped out, back to the cool night air.

Two cigarettes later, she was watching moonlight reflect off of the pool when she heard a crashing inside, like things were being thrown around. An animalistic howl rang against the glass walls.

Lights turned on inside the mansion. She went to open the door, warn Cohen, hide. Anything, and found herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

At the other end of the pistol were familiar dark eyes.

He lowered the gun, "Summer? What are you doing here at this hour?"

"It's nothing, Sandy. I just had to. You know—" Her explanation was broken off by another crash inside.

Sandy raised the gun again, going closer to the door. "Who's in there? Move and you're dead."

The familiar voice, "And I say I'm dead. And I move."

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**Author's Note**: I just really wanted to apologize for taking so long with this chapter. I had a hard time getting it out and even now I'm not entirely happy with it, but I owe my readers, so I hope you'll forgive me. I really hope I can count on that because my online time has been cut back recently and I don't have as much time as I used to. Admittedly, most of that is used more for the **reading** of fanfic than writing it, but still. _smiles_

Anyhoodles, I always promise that I'll do my best to update, and I'm doing that again now. I have an idea where I'm going, and the next chapter will have a lot of Cohen-y (Well, I was going to say 'goodness' but it actually promises to be sad and not a little disturbing.)

Anyway, read and review, it's what I live for. Other than that, have a nice day. _smiles._


	7. Wool or Copper

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own them.

_(12345)_

**ANNIVERSARY **

**Chapter 7- Wool/Copper **

_"And I say I'm dead. And I move."_

Summer saw Seth step out of the pool house. Jacket and shirt abandoned somewhere in the darkness, his pale skin caught the light, shadows and smudges crossing his torso so thickly she couldn't tell one from another.

Transfixed, she saw long white fingers trail over two dark holes in the creamy flesh_. The bullets._

In his other hand was a length of dark fabric, a sweater, and his pants pocket bulged like something had been hastily stuffed inside.

"Summer? Summer, what the hell is going on? Who is this? What's going on?"

Sandy's voice, usually so solid, climbed into hysteria, panic.

Summer, reverie broken, tried to explain, tried to explain to the man, trembling violently, but gun-hand still rock steady, that his son had risen.

"I remember how I got Captain Oats."

The somberness was unfamiliar in that voice, but Sandy stilled.

_An experiment, a disciplinary measure, a learning tool. "I'm tellin' ya, hun, this will work." "Seth, this is Oats. He wants to be a soldier. Will you help him?" "Soldiers have to make their beds." "Good job, Private Oats." "A soldier always puts his toys away." "Second Lieutenant Oats." "Field Marshall Oats." "A soldier is polite to his grandfather." "Major Oats, you'll make General in no time." And the boy caught on. Seth caught on. He was a smart kid. Such a smart kid. "Daddy, why would a horse want to be a soldier?" "Do soldiers have to play with girls?" "Soldiers don't have toys, Dad." Finally, toy horse in a red cape perched on a book shelf with Superman and Batman. "Major Oats saved the city Dad. I think that deserves Captain, don't you?" "I think Captain Oats is happy as a Captain, Dad. Generals have too much work." And Captain Oats stayed Captain. And Seth grew up into a young man Sandy loved so much that sometimes he couldn't breathe from it. And Seth died._

And the gun lowered slowly, like Sandy remembered the weight of it. What it meant, what it could do.

"You two should come in the house."

Summer looked at Seth as Sandy walked towards the warm yellow light of the kitchen, but the boy was expressionless as he shrugged on the black sweater, zipping it over dirt stains, smudged blood, and white skin marked by two small holes.

They followed Sandy.

Looking everywhere but at the black-clad shape of his son in the kitchen, Sandy fished through cabinets, drawers, the refrigerator. "Summer, are you hungry? I've got bagels. Always bagels. Or thirsty? Some juice? A soda?"

"Sandy, stop. We need your help."

"Slamming a juice bottle down on the counter, Sandy broke, "How! How do you need my help? My son is dead. But he's standing in the kitchen. You say he needs justice? There is no justice. If there were, he and Ryan would still be alive. Right now they would be in their rooms, sleeping. Or sneaking out to meet you and Marissa," he took a deep, shuddering breath, "There is no justice, Summer. There never was."

Seth's voice broke the silence, suddenly so thick in the air.

"Not justice. Vengeance."

The black shape of Sandy's pistol appeared in Set's hand. Summer never saw him pick it up, but now she couldn't pull her eyes away. Dimly she heard herself ask, "Who killed them, Sandy?"

(_12345_)

**Note:** As a member of a large family, my parents worried that we would get jealous of one another, so on one child's birthday, all of the rest got a small gift as well. It was only a token, something to unwrap, but it was nice. When we were little, our parents bought these gifts, as we grew, when we were flush, we continued it. So, since today is my birthday, I'm sending out shiny new chapters. I hope you enjoy it.

Read and review, please.


	8. Bronze

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them, and after I made you wait so long for an update, I'm not sure I deserve to. Well, maybe I do. :)

_(12345)_

**ANNIVERSARY **

**CHAPTER 8- BRONZE**

_Not justice. Vengeance._

Summer watched Sandy close his eyes, wincing at the harsh words. She couldn't stop herself, "Vengeance is all we have."

The older man's eyes snapped open again, and she felt herself pinned down by his glare, "No, it is not, Summer. It is not."

"I'm sorry, Sandy. I shouldn't have- It's not my—"

"It's all I have. It's why I'm here."

Sandy didn't look at his son, gave no sign that he heard the boy at all. Turning away, the man shuffled out of the room slowly, shoulders bent, like a broken stringed puppet, like a man carrying a great weight.

Summer waited, watching Seth. The boy was home, in the family kitchen, and there was no change. Then, she saw his hand drifted over the basket of bagels on the counter. His face didn't change, but she smiled a little. It was something.

Sandy came back in the room carrying a thick folder. Before Summer could ask what it was, he answered, "This iswhat we know. Crime scene information, interviews, pictures."

For the first time since they met again, Sandy looked directly at his son, dark eyes met over the marble countertop, "You have to do this. It's why you're here."

Then he turned, walking further into the dark house.

Summer picked up the folder, carefully, so nothing inside would be lost, and followed Seth out, one of his hands still gripping the pistol, the other brushing over the walls, pictures and notes and memories.

Seth took possession of the folder as they got back into the car. Summer pulled out staring at the black gun resting on the manila folder.

"Where are we going? I mean, next, where?"

"I lived here. My life is over. Now, we have to go where I died."

"Chino it is."

Dark eyes watched the car from a nearby window.

(_12345_)

This time, Summer left the radio off, and she didn't try to make conversation.

Seth flipped through the folder, fingers running over the pages, too fast for Summer to read.

The trip usually took two hours, but it felt to Summer as though no time passed, as though they hadn't traveled at all, but magically appeared in front of the run down house.

It had been a year, a year since the senseless deaths of two boys and every time she visited, Summer expected to see a change, something horrible, one sign that lives had been taken here. She wanted to see blood rise up from the brown grass, a dark cloud shrouding only this roof, misty gray figures drifting through the rooms, but at the same time, she didn't want to. It wouldn't be fair.

When Theresa first moved back in, Summer couldn't believe it. She drove out on another moonless night to scream at the girl, and ended up weeping in her arms over the boys they both loved. Since then, Summer spent more time here than at her own home. Theresa understood the loss the way no one else could.

The kitchen light was on and Summer gestured Seth into the shadows of the porch. "She can't see you. I'll get her into the kitchen. You-- Wait, nothing happened in there, right?" Seth nodded. "Then we'll go into the kitchen. You can wander around. I'd tell you to be quiet, but--. Now, hide."

With a twisted smile, he complied, sinking in the shadows around the railing.

The only thing Summer still disliked about the girl was her composure. Even that morning, weeping over graves, Theresa kept it together. She had to, and Summer understood why sheneeded to bequiet in her sorrow when Summer was falling apart, screaming and weeping. Theresa picked up the pieces, she didn't try to console, or commiserate, she just let Summer finish.

Theresa was still wearing the black dress when she opened the door.

"I was expecting you. Coffee?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Seth watched the two dark heads move together, into the warm light of the kitchen, then followed on silent feet.

(_Check_ _it out folks, for the first time we get to see the inside of Seth's head_.)

The memory was still broken. Fragments, too dull to be recalled, too sharp to be desired. Jumping from scene to scene. On the bus, jollying Ryan into conversation. On the lawn, bleeding into grass. Blonde wood of cabinets became Ryan's hair, framing an empty face. Blue, staring dolls eyes. And Ryan was crying. But he didn't make a sound.

Only been to the house once before, but it seemed so familiar. Pictures on the wall hadn't changed, furniture was the same. And why not? Most of the real mess had been made outside, and Nature absorbed it. Grief and blood and death, and the lawn had probably grown more luxurious. That was the way the cycle worked. There was no bad, no tragedy, which was completely without some benefit or merit, whatever it may be.

The cardboard boxes were missing. No longer sitting in the living room, they were probably in the pool house now. Traveling up the hall, running his fingers across walls and shelves and pictures of memories he didn't share. Did they see what happened? The smiling unfamiliar faces? Did they know what? And who?

The small door at the end of the hall was closed. Ghosting hands over it, Seth almost heard laughter, almost heard Ryan's soft dark voice singing a lullaby, almost heard Theresa telling a baby about his father. Every door had that potential, the future and the past tied together behind the wood. For the first time that night, he found himself doing something he didn't want to do as his fingers reached for the dull brass knob. Would the room be the same? The air full of unfulfilled potential? Or would it be different, storage, a spare bedroom, and every last trace of a baby with dark hair and blue eyes moved away? And which would be worse?

Fingers grasp, thrown into memory. _Ryan slumped in the doorway, staring at the empty crib. Seth watched his back, trying to pretend he didn't hear the small sniffs, the harsh breathing. He was so wrapped up in not hearing that the crash of a door startled him. He froze. He froze, but Ryan didn't._

_"Who are you? What are you doing here?"_

_Three men._

_"You Atwood? We've got some business with you."_

_Three men. Large. Seth still couldn't remember their faces, but he would never forget them._

_"Look, let him go. Whatever you want, he's not involved."_

_"Maybe he is."_

_One man grabbed Seth, holding him. He couldn't fight. Never fought. Ryan was the __fighter, and that's what he did. _

_Stronger than he looked and accustomed to larger opponents and Seth never considered why, Ryan threw himself at the man holding Seth, only to be dragged back, down the hall, into the living room. _

_The beating was slow, methodical. For once, Seth couldn't find his voice. Couldn't find the words, talk their way out, threaten them with his father, his grandfather. Ask them why._

_Ryan fought back at first, getting a few solid hits in, but it didn't matter. The two men would just switch places, one holding, one hitting._

_After a while, Ryan didn't fight anymore._

_The arms around Seth loosened, and he slipped to the floor like an empty bag, and still __silent. The man who ad been holding him walked over to Ryan, checked his pulse. He muttered something small and quiet, and laughed._

At the time Seth thought he didn't hear. Now he remembered, _Bout damn time. Gets what he deserves._

The memories flicker back faster, like scenes from a movie, an old projection at once brighter and clearer and more confused, but now he remembers. He remembers seeing the men pull Ryan's body, dead he thought, but actually unconscious, into the yard. Dumping him there on the grass.

Seth remembers feeling forgotten, still crumpled on the floor in the living room. _Outside Ryan was lying on the grass. One of the men lit a cigarette and casually rammed his boot into the boy's side, watching him jerk. The other man pulled a small flask out of his pocket, absently offering it to the smoker before tipping it back himself. The streetlight caught on the metal, flashing in Seth's eyes._

_The third man. He had forgotten the third man. Snapping out of his reverie, Seth glanced quickly around the room. He wasn't there. Seth could escape, find help. Getting to his feet as quietly as he could, he started moving towards the back of the house. There had to be a back door. Every house has a back door._

_A dark shape rose out of the shadows of the hallway, moving towards him._

_"Thought I forgot you, kid? Naw. I got a job to do and I intend to finish it. Everybody knows, you want this shit done right, you go to A.J."_

Seth remembered backing out of the house, chased by two bullets into the front yard. He bled, and saw Ryan.

And then he died.

(_12345_)

**Note: **I'm so sorry you had to wait this long for an update. I'd blame it on work or stress, or even my own laziness, but the truth is, I was stuck. I had originally planned to have both Sandy and Kirsten in the previous chapter, but it ended so well with Sandy that I stopped where I was. Since I have the whole thing planned out, I was left with one more scene than I knew what to do with. So, after much soul searching, and battering of my faithful beta **DerSaboteur** (Who is as eager for a new chapter as you are), I decided to go on with the outline, and you'll just have to wait a while longer for Kirsten.

If it helps at all, the scene will be a doozy.

Plus okay, I am lazy.

As always, your reviews are life to me. Good or bad, which means, even if you don't dig, please dish.


	9. Pottery or China

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the OC. I am a temp. I live with my parents. I **wish** I owned the OC, because that would be awesome.

**Warning: **There is some bad language in this chapter, violence, and one racial slur that I hated typing but I feel like I needed, so if you're offended, um, tough.

(_12345_)

**ANNIVERSARY **

**CH 9- POTTERY OR CHINA**

Theresa's kitchen was a second home to Summer. Sometimes she felt as though she only moved from it to the Cohen pool house and back again.

The silence between the two girls was comfortable and familiar; they'd sat like this before, on either side of a weathered table. Still, at the back of her mind Summer was thinking about Cohen, wondering what he was doing, what he had found out, and hoping he wouldn't make any noise.

But he was eerily quiet, even as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Theresa, where can I find Dawn?"

Theresa turned; almost responding to the familiar voice, then froze. Pushing her chair away violently, she stood, "Seth? Summer, what's going on?"

She took a breath, closing her eyes, and then opened them again, "You did it, didn't you? You called him, and he came."

"Where is Dawn, Theresa," Seth asked again.

"You have to understand. We need him. We need this." Summer tried to explain, but Theresa cut her off.

"You knew what would happen, what he would do, what he would be. The streets will be red by morning-"

Thinking back on a dark corner of Newport, Summer whispered, "They already are."

"-and how is this fair to Seth? He should be at rest."

"He wasn't, Theresa! If he was at peace, he wouldn't have come back. I wouldn't have been able to call him. But he needs this as much as I-- as we do. Sandy even agrees—"

"Sandy knows? What about Kirsten?"

"-No, she doesn't know. But, look, he needs this for himself and Ryan. All of us. Don't you want revenge on the men that took Ryan away from you when you needed him the most?"

Seth stood, silent, in the doorway of the small room, watching words fly between dark eyes. Summer and Theresa didn't need to talk any more; they understood each other without words.

Summer continued, "I know you don't like it. You never liked it. But if it wasn't supposed to happen, it wouldn't have. We only have a few more hours to find what we're looking for, will you help?"

Theresa looked at Seth for a long moment, taking in everything that made him Cohen and now something more. Vengeance, justice, was God's to mete out, but Seth did come back.

"Where is Dawn?"

Resolved, Theresa answered, "Rose Court Motel. Summer knows where it is, Apartment 209."

The boy turned and left, Summer moved to follow.

"I'm spending the night at the Cohen's. Well, what's left of the night anyway, didn't want to be alone. Will I see you… two there?"

Without turning back, Summer answered, "If we can."

(_12345_)

The streets of Chino were quiet, in the specific, but everywhere they went, they heard the faint echo of sirens, of fighting, harsh words and unexpected blows.

The Rose Court Motel was worn, a faded photograph of a time when the owners cared, when it was a place people went. Now it was just where they ended up.

Cohen led the way; it wasn't too hard to find Dawn's room.

Summer had only met the woman once, at Casino Night, the first night she spoke to Seth voluntarily. Caught up in the excitement of gambling, and for once, winning, with her nervous good luck charm at her side, she missed the woman's transformation from composed and proud mother to drunk and angry mess leaning heavily on Ryan's shoulder. Theresa told her what had actually happened that night, why some loud blonde had collapsed on the ground, almost taking a waiter with her, why Ryan carried her as if she were delicate.

Since that night, Summer had only seen the woman twice. Once at the funeral, wailing loudly at the edge of the grave, and again, weeping on the grass, that morning, so it was with no small sense of anxiety that she approached the door.

Seth had reached it first, but now he hung back, as if he didn't want to touch the brass knob. Summer didn't either, but the answers they needed might be behind the door.

Unlocked, the door swung open quietly. Slightly disappointed at the lack of drama, Summer called out into the gloom, "Dawn?"

With no response, she stepped into the room. Meant for long term guests, a small living room opened up into a bedroom, bathroom, and a kitchenette. It was there, perched on a stool at the counter, that they found Dawn.

The older woman was still, bleach blonde head resting in her hands, an open bottle of Jack Daniels sitting nearby, half empty, and no glass in sight.

"Dawn? Dawn, are you awake?"

Summer reached out to the woman, to shake her, or something, wake her up, but it was unnecessary.

"I heard you come in. What do you want?"

Her voice was hoarse, but clear, clearer than Summer expected considering how much she had probably had to drink.

Harsher now, Dawn continued, "I said, what do you want? It's the middle of the goddamn night."

"Where is AJ?"

Accustomed to Seth's silent presence now, Summer didn't start when he spoke, but Dawn threw her head up and stared at the dark-haired boy.

Turning her burning blue gaze on Summer, she asked, "Is this one of those rich bitch's tricks? I don't need this shit, sending dead kids to my house. What next, Ryan comes through the door?"

Staring into the woman's eyes, Summer saw the tiny flinch when she said Ryan's name. It was small, almost invisible in the anger and the alcohol, but it was there.

"Where is AJ," Seth asked again.

Getting up from her seat, Dawn grabbed the bottle and walked past the two teens to the living room. "I don't have to tell you shit," swinging the bottle in a sloppy arc, "I'm the one that lost my son." "My son," she repeated, her voice cracking on the word.

"You didn't lose him, Dawn."

"The hell I didn't. First he gets locked up like his brother, then he's one of those weak little rich kids? The hell I didn't lose him."

"You didn't lose him, Dawn. You threw him away."

Sitting, almost collapsing on the sagging couch, her voice softer now, contemplative, "I threw him away? I wouldn't do that. He--," she turned a now watery stare on Summer, "He left me. My baby boy, he was the smart one, the good one. I gave him to the Cohens. They were supposed to—"

Summer couldn't help herself, "Supposed to what? Do your job? You were his mom. You were supposed to take care of him, and what did you do? Get drunk and who knows what else with your loser boyfriends and let them smack him around? Considering what he grew up with, Ryan was a miracle. He cared about people, protected them. I bet he tried to protect you, too, and then you threw him out. He was one of the best people I've ever known. He took care of people. He stood up for Cohen, he saved Marissa's life. Twice. He was going to be a dad. He would have been the best dad."

Summer's voice was getting louder and louder, and she wanted to stop, but she couldn't. The words were coming out thicker and she could see Dawn starting to cry, she could feel herself crying, but she couldn't stop.

Until Seth put a hand on her arm. His skin was cold, not as cold as she expected, but it startled her out of it. She stepped back, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths of the stale, smoky air. She had done her crying. She was finished with tears. And why did that feel like as much of a lie as it always did?

Seth's voice was soft, almost comforting to the sobbing woman on the couch. Slowly it broke through, "Where is AJ, Dawn?"

"I don't know. Why do you need to know?"

"He was there, Dawn. He killed your baby, and he killed me."

"He-- He killed you? You're really the Cohen kid?" Calm now, Dawn set a calculating gaze at the boy. "This was some kind of trick, wasn't it? You wanted to get away from your folks? Maybe you and Ryan had something going on? My boy was the best. He could get anybody he wanted, and they all wanted him. This was a scam for the insurance, wasn't it?"

Staring around the room now, craning her neck towards the still open door, Dawn crooned, "So where is he? Where is my little scam artist? Where is mommy's little con?"

Seth's voice was as emotionless as ever, so maybe Summer imagined the tinge of disgust she heard, "He's not here, Dawn. He couldn't come back."

"Hiding out, huh? It'd be too suspicious if you were both back in town."

"He was too tired, Dawn. He was tired of fighting—"

"I'll bet he was tired, the little pussy. I always knew he was a weak little good-for-nothing bastard, just like his brother, just like his father."

Like Seth had grabbed her earlier, now Summer saw him grab Dawn's shoulder, cutting her off. But this time it was clear that touch was anything but comforting as the older woman grew pale and whimpered.

Summer tried to break him out of it, them out if, but it didn't work, so she braced herself and grabbed Cohen—

_"Useless little bastard. Get out of the way!" That same hoarse voice, bare of tears and now touched with harsh laughter. A heavy foot pushing away a small boy, another boy in the corner, watching, and there's nothing he can do. And God help him for feeling happy it's not him. And she's their mother, and mom's aren't supposed to do this. And Theresa's mom isn't like this. And he said that part out loud. "Theresa's mom? What the hell have you been doing with that spic, Ryan?" And the heavy foot, the push becomes a kick, and ir hurts. It always hurts, but this time is different, this time he screams. "What's your problem now, you little pussy? Stomachache?" And she drags him up by one arm, and he screams again. He screams again and he might never do anything else. He screams and it's all he has, all he is, just a scream echoing out into the sky, into space. And she lets go, and he falls, and it's almost better because it hurts, but it hurts different, and he is burning up. She leaves, to get another drink, to go to work, to jump off the edge of the earth, and he doesn't care, curled up in a ball of pain. "Are you okay, Ryan? You know yelling only makes it worse." And he can't answer his brother. He doesn't have any words, there are no more words, ever again, only the scream, and he won't let the scream out. He is not weak. "'m getting Theresa." Then there are police, and a ride to the hospital, and he's been there before, and then he gets sleepy and everything goes black. "He'll be okay, Mrs. Atwood. His appendix ruptured and it was touch and go for a few minutes, but he's a strong boy. The paramedics say he didn't make a peep on the ambulance, said they've never seen a little boy that brave." "Thank you, Doctor. I was so worried." And it's that sweet voice. That sweet voice that always made him think it would never happen again. And it always happened again, and he wouldn't fall for it again. "Ryan?" "Little brother? They said you were dead. The doctor said you were dead for a minute. Did you see God?" And he doesn't say anything. He doesn't say a word, because he is strong, he is brave, and somewhere inside he remembers a small, bright room where everything is quiet and peaceful and soft, and someday he gets to go back_.

And as Seth lets go of Dawn, Summer gets to le go, and she's crying again, but this time she doesn't brush them away, this time she lets herself cry for that little boy.

Dawn is crying again, too. Sobbing and gasping, and choking out something, "It's true, isn't it? My baby boy, he's dead?"

Summer can barely scrape up enough sympathy to nod at the woman, but Cohen manages.

"Oh God. What I did. It's my fault." Dawn is working herself into hysterics, but flinches back as Cohen's hand reaches for her again.

"Where is AJ?"

Pulling up the neck of her t-shirt and drying her eyes and face, Dawn answers, "He usually hangs out with his buddies at a motorcycle bar in Chino Hills, I can draw you a map."

The woman walks over to the kitchenette, and Summer grabs Seth's arm, carefully keeping her hands on the fabric. "What the hell was that, Cohen?"

"That was Ryan."

"I know that. I figured that out, but how?"

The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a dark leather band, "All that's left of him is in this, Summer. I just let Dawn see it."

Summer swallowed her next question as Dawn walked back in the room.

"I couldn't help my little boy, I hurt him more than anybody, and compared to that, this is nothing, but it's all I can do for him now. If AJ had something to do with your deaths, you need to make him pay."

(_12345_)

**Note:** First off, I'm sorry this chapter took so long. Like I always say, I have no real excuse. They come as they come. I'll try not to make it so long until the next one, but I can't make any promises. Second, I've seen a number of stories with a note at the end where the author asks people to guess their age or gender or something. My question, and I'm honestly curious, is, do you guys care? Does it make a difference in the story to know more about me? Or, are you ever curious? I try not to put too much personal detail in my notes or profile, but if it made a difference, I could. I'm just sort of curious.

Okay, that's the whole note. Now for the traditional begging for the review.

Please review.

If you want better begging, you'll have to review and tell me.


	10. Tin or Aluminum

**Disclaimer: **I don't own a darn thing.

**Apology**: I'm soooo sorry. If I told you how much I deserve to be bent over my desk and spanked, I'd have to raise my rating.

(_12345_)

**ANNIVERSARY**

**Chapter 10- Tin or Aluminum**

They left Dawn to wander, tear-blinded, to the counter, and the comfort of a bottle. She wouldn't change now. There was no reason left.

(_12345_)

What surprised Summer the most was how quiet the bar was from the outside. Newport clubs spread the party around, out the doors and onto patios, or out to the beach. Laughter and conversation would echo off of white sand and fade into the nighttime sky.

This wasn't that kind of place. In this bar, serious men sat, and drank, and didn't talk.

"Okay, Cohen. Give me the gun," she spoke faster, "It's just that… I mean, you might recognize the guys, and this is a public place, and I know you'd be okay, but still—" She took the surprisingly heavy pistol from his hands and tucked it into the inside pocket of her coat.

Seth watched her with a half-smile.

"What, did you think I would tuck it into my pants? I'm surprised at you Cohen. I'm not that kind of girl." Pulling the coat closed again, and buttoning it around the awkward shape, she led the way through the dark parking lot.

As they got closer, she started to hear music, and quiet conversation leak out of the door. Then, the voices were raised, and they reached the door in time to dodge a body, forcibly ejected.

"No offense or anything, but you can take it from here," she said, moving behind the pale boy, now following him into the smoky interior.

Eyes turned towards them as they walked through the bar, but no one said anything. Summer wondered what the saw. A Newport girl, slumming? A Newport boy, that she only noticed now was still masked in the dried blood. _Well, too late to fix it_.

Laughter cut through the smoke and music from the back of the rm.

Summer had never seen AJ. Not in real life. One or two pictures mixed in with Ryan's possessions, two boys, looking older than their years, a dirty blonde smiling watery eyes at the camera, and in the corner, a dark shape, a shadow over the scene, no part of the picture, but somehow his presence made the whole scene feel colder.

Summer had never seen AJ, but she knew him. He was a drunk, an abuser, and a murderer, and, if she had her way, a dead man. And he was in the bar, laughing, by the pool table.

Summer followed Seth to the back of the room, fighting the smile that threatened to burst across her face. She could feel his eyes rake her, assessing, as they approached. For once, she was grateful for the way men's eyes lingered on her breasts. He might never notice the outline of the gun.

One quick glance dismissed Seth, blood stains and all until the boy spoke.

"Excuse me, AJ? I have some questions for you."

A sharp bark of laughter, and the man replied, "You sound like a cop, but…" His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted back to her chest, "You don't look like cops."

"It's concerning a murder. Two boys. One year ago. You had some help?"

Some of the other men at the pool table shifted as they heard the question. Summer couldn't help but wonder which of them had been involved.

A tone of exaggerated innocence, and AJ said, "I have no idea what you're talking about. A murder? Did I _see_ something? I'm afraid I can't help you. Good luck, though."

He smiled as he turned back to the table, tightening his grip on the pool cue.

Looking at Seth, Summer saw a small, twisted smile crack his solemn demeanor as the boy spoke.

"That's a shame. Well, thank you for your help."

An innocent hand was offered, and accepted. A gentlemanly gesture.

Summer waited for the signs that Seth was working his weird magic on the man, some harsh breathing, or a shudder of reaction. Tears were too much to hope for. But she got none of that.

Seth just didn't let go.

After a few moments, AJ smiled, and tried to pull back his hand. When he couldn't free himself, the smile faded and his face turned an angry red as Summer saw the handshake become a squeeze.

Seth didn't flinch, he just squeezed back. The only outward sign of their struggles were white knuckles, but AJ was beginning to sweat.

In times of extreme stress, the human body is capable of amazing things. A woman can pull a car off of her toddler, a man can cut his own arm off to gain his freedom. These things are possible, but unbelievable on a day-to-day basis because people are held back by fear. Fear of pain, fear of failure, fear of success.

Seth didn't have any fear anymore, and as the silent contest went on, Summer heard a tiny snap. She wasn't sure whose hand it was, but as Seth tightened his grip, the redness of AJ's face drained away, leaving the man ghostly pale.

The other men around the pool table did nothing. In Chino, it didn't pay to get involved.

Seth's grip tightened.

"Wow, kid. You're stronger than you look. Are you some kind of tough guy?"

AJ's voice was steady, but his eyes flickered from Seth, to Summer, to the table where no help was offered.

Seth spoke quietly, tightening his grip even more and Summer thought she heard another tiny snap.

"I'm not tough. But my brother was. He was a fighter his entire life, and not because he wanted to be, but because he had no choice. And do you know whose fault that was, AJ?"

Another tiny snap and Summer thought she saw AJ waver.

Seth continued, "He was the best fighter I ever saw. You know how I know? He survived. He grew up in a garden slum with a junkie, and he was a decent person. No one ever defended him, but he defended everyone.

He survived every bad thing in his life, but you. You beat him until he was just a broken sack of flesh."

The snap was louder this time, probably a larger bone in the hand, but Seth never raised his voice. He just pulled AJ closer, until he was whispering in the man's ear.

"He still survived, you know. You left him on the grass to die, but he didn't.

He fought harder than he ever had before, in the hospital, and he had a few more hours."

Summer heard another tiny snap and thought about that night. _Ryan, unrealistically small in the white bed, and Kirsten swore he squeezed her hand but it never happened._

The man in front of her ruined lives. The ones that weren't completely destroyed were maimed, wounded in a permanent way and left to limp into eternity.

She said, "Harder."

A chorus of cracks like fluttering applause and AJ broke.

"Fine. A year ago? Two kids? I'll tell you, just let me go."

Summer answered for Seth, "Not yet."

Hands still clasped, Seth tugged AJ to the back door and into the alley behind the bar.

When they got outside, Seth released the man. Clutching his broken hand to his chest, AJ finally spoke.

"I just did the job I was hired to do. Make it look like a robbery, beat him to death, mess the place up—"

Summer couldn't stop herself, "You didn't care? You knew him, AJ. You helped Dawn raise him."

A pain-twisted smirk, "If you could call it that. Dawn could hardly take care of herself, much less her kids."

A lazy swing, and AJ was staggered. Summer was sure he hadn't even seen the punch coming, or at least, she knew she hadn't.

"Why, AJ?"

"I told you. I was paid. That's all there is. Some old guy gave me the money and an envelope and I did the job."

Summer jumped in, blocking Seth's arm, "Fine, AJ. We know why. The next question is who. Who paid you, you pathetic piece of shit.?"

"What? You little mouthy bi—"

This time Summer didn't stop the punch.

Dazed, and still hunched over his broken hand, AJ lifted the other to his mouth, wiping away the blood.

"Just some old guy. Grey hair, suit."

"What else?"

"Well, his voice was weird. It was like, sometimes he had an accent, and sometimes he didn't. And he had a weird name. Not that he told me, but I seen him in the paper a few times. Always having a charity dinner for some tree, or something. Or holding a shovel at a construction site. Like that bastard ever did an honest day's work."

AJ's snorting laughter bubbled through the blood surrounding his broken nose. Summer grimaced at the sight, and turned to Seth.

"I've got an idea who it is, you?"

"Yeah."

Seth left the alley, but Summer had another question for the man in front of her. "What about the other boy? Why did you kill him?"

"The letter said to "use my discretion" when it came to Ryan, but make certain whoever was with him died. Quick, clean, and permanent. Painless, if possible. I thought that was weird, but what do I care. None of my business, and a damn good payday for two hours work."

Summer began to walk away, but she could hear AJ laughing behind her.

"The look on that little bastards face. Hey, girl," he yelled after her, "When the Ambulance came, did they tell you if Ryan pissed his pants?"

Hoarse laughter crackled off of worn brick. Summer paused, turned.

As she joined Seth at the car the alley was still ringing with echoes. She felt sure no one would call the police, and if they did, the patrons of the bar knew how to keep their mouths shut.

This sort of thing probably happened all of the time.

She slipped into the driver's side and closed the seatbelt around her, setting the gun, still warm, on the armrest and she stared at it as Seth got in.

Shaking her head to clear the clouds, she started the car, and asked Seth their next move.

"To Grandfather's house we go."

(_12345_)

**Note:** Okay, this is going to be a long one, but sometimes that can't be helped. First off, I want to apologize, again, for how long this has taken. I told you I was on hiatus because of computer trouble and that was true, at first. Then, our computer was fixed, but I was too busy to write, with a side helping of the flu. The next week-end I, well, I was lazy. I did my Christmas shopping and dyed my hair (cocoa brown.) Last week, I meant to write, but I got the flu again. I spent a great deal of time on the bathroom floor. It was super fun. (Deep sarcasm implied.)

But now I'm back.

Now, in a recent review one of you said you didn't know what the Crow was. I have to say, I'm a little disappointed. I thought that would be the source material for all teen-age angst, but perhaps I was mistaken. So, if you'll all huddle up around my chair, I'll tell you a brief story.

_Once upon a time there was a man named James O'Barr. His life was very difficult, and during a particularly emotional time, he began work on a comic book. _

_This comic, called The Crow, used Native American mythology and punk rock imagery to tell the story of a young man's return from the dead to take revenge on his killers._

_This young man was named Eric Draven. On Devil's Night, he and his girlfriend, Shelly, were killed by thugs, and the crime was never solved. Exactly a year later, Eric rose from the dead, and guided by a crow, hunted down the individuals responsible for the tragedy._

_In 1992, The Crow was made into a movie starring Brandon Lee that carried it's own tragic story. Several sequels and a television series followed, along with more comics and novelizations_.

Any more questions, just let me know. Of course, since you're already online, you could just do a search.

Please review.


	11. Steel

**Disclaimer**: I still own nothing.

(_12345)_

**ANNIVERSARY**

**Chapter 11 Steel**

Caleb Nichol sat alone, in his castle, absently rolling an empty tumbler from hand to hand. In another time, another climate, he might be staring into the dancing flames of an open fireplace. As it was, he watched leaves shake in the darkness on the other side of the picture window, one of the features of his mansion.

It had been a long and difficult year for the Newport Group. Early tragedy and a federal investigation, the collapse of Kirsten Cohen _she was drinking, you know_, but they had come through.

The Newport Group was stronger then it had been in years. New developments sprouted up and down the coastline. Luxury homes, businesses that catered to the elite, and a few low-income complexes for the good publicity.

And he was alone, in an empty room, with an empty glass.

And a ghost.

Reflected in the light from the now-open door was a familiar shade. Not Julie, come to offer a refill or something warmer, and not Marissa with her familiar refrain, "Can I have some more money?"

Just a pale face, surrounded by dark curls. And he couldn't see the boy's eyes, but then, he never could.

"You're here alone tonight."

Caleb didn't expect a response. Usually the shade just watched him, silently, until he tossed out of sleep and back into a dark, cold bedroom.

"I half expected to see the other one with you."

"Someone had to talk to Julie."

"And why would _someone_ need to do that?"

"The dead can't rest, Grandpa. Something has to be done about that."

"There's nothing to be done. The investigation dried up and there's no way to bring them back. No matter how much I wish I could."

Those last words were muttered, and if Caleb Nichol were pressed, he would never admit to saying them at all.

"This is the first time you've spoken to me, Seth."

"We never talked much when I was alive, why start now?"

"Is this going to turn into some sort of Christmas Carol? Shouldn't you be wearing chains and warning me about three more ghosts?"

"I never forged any chains in life. I didn't have time. And you don't need to see any more ghosts. Not now. It would be too late, anyway."

Caleb set his glass down on the floor, eyes tightening at the corners as he stretched. Straightening back up, he rubbed absently at his shoulder.

"You don't look so good, Grandpa."

"I don't feel so good, Seth. So, if you're not here to warn me, why are you here?"

"I'm talking to you for the same reason I've spoken to everyone else tonight. I have some questions."

"Shoot. Oh, I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me. But then again, you're not really here." He sighed. "What was that line, 'You're nothing but a bit of cheese, or mustard. There is more of gravy than of grave about you.' Still, what does it matter. Go on, spirit. Ask your questions."

"I really only have one."

Seth stepped further into the room, setting his hand on the back of the chair.

"Why did you kill us?"

Caleb pushed himself out of the leather wingback an away, towards the window. Still facing away from Seth, he said, "I didn't kill you. No matter what I've done in my life, I've never killed anyone."

Seth laughed, "You know, in a sense, I believe you. There is no blood on your hands. You've never fired a gun, or held a knife in anger. In fact, I don't think you've ever even raised a hand in anger.

You're all bluster. Storming words and a red face."

Caleb's face, reddening at these words, became darker, and his hand, wrapped around the neck of a cut-crystal decanter, tightened.

"You talk, Grandpa. And you pay people to listen.

I spoke to AJ. He said he was paid to do the job he did. To kill us."

"Not to kill you. Never kill. Just… Just to discourage the boy. Keep him where he belonged. You weren't even supposed to be there. Why were you there?"

The last words were quiet, pleading.

"Too little, too late, Grandpa. We're already dead. Your regrets do nothing to mitigate that situation. You paid the man that took our lives, and through that action, you killed us."

Caleb clutched at his shoulder again, decanter abandoned, glugging it's contents onto the polished silver tray.

"I suppose I was lucky. Two bullets and I bled my life away on the grass. Ryan had to suffer.

You're not a bad person."

Caleb nodded, silent.

"You just wanted to protect your family."

The man nodded again.

"I wasn't even supposed to be there."

A nod, weaker this time.

"But someone knew. Someone knew about your plan, knew I would be with Ryan. And that person wanted me dead. But you gave them the way in. You planted the seed of my death.

You killed your family."

Caleb was silent. The room, never loud as Seth had kept his voice down, echoed with his last words.

(_12345_)

**Interesting fact**- Chapter 11 was written in the vestibule of our family church while the rest of the clan attended Christmas mass. I, however, am a conscientious objector.

**Happy Holidays.**

Please Review.


	12. Silk

**Disclaimer**: I got a copy of The Zombie Survival Guide for Christmas. So, I've got that going for me.

(_12345_)

**ANNIVERSARY**

**Chapter 12- Silk**

When they got to the Cooper-Nichol home. Seth went one way and Summer another. She wasn't sure how he knew where Caleb was, but he did.

She, however, knew where to find Julie from long habit. Nothing near a domestic woman, Julie still found herself orbiting the kitchen, and that's where she was tonight.

"Summer, dear, is that you? Come here."

Summer let herself be drawn into the familiar embrace and suffered the gently alcoholic fog. If the year past had done nothing else, it had increased the profit margin for Jack Daniels.

Julie pulled back first, but it was a close call.

"What are you doing here," the woman blinked at the clock on the wall, "It's so late. Not that I mind, of course. It's so nice to see you again…"

Summer ignored the unspoken accusation. After the murders, she hadn't been able to face anyone, much less Marissa, whom she expected to be as wrapped in grief as she was. And by avoiding her best friend, she'd avoided Julie as well.

Oddly, that separation hurt more. As cold and shallow as she was, Julie Cooper was as close to a mother as Summer had had in a long time, and deep under the well-polished veneer, the woman had a warmth that Summer missed.

Watching her now, dabbing at her eyes again with a crisp linen napkin, Summer remembered seeing her at the gravesite that morning.

God. Had it only been that morning? It felt like months had passed in the past few hours.

Still, she had a job to do.

"Julie? Can I ask you some questions?"

"Sure sweetheart. Here, sit down. Do you want something to drink?"

Summer took a seat, but waved away the offer of a drink. Although that might make things easier.

"What do you know about what happened that night, Julie?"

The bright blue eyes were faded now, their fire drowned in tears and alcohol. Summer was reminded of Dawn, as the woman in front of her avoided her gaze.

"You have to tell me what you know, Julie. I need the truth."

For a moment, life sparked again in the woman, "And what about me, Summer? What I need, what my children need?" Then it faded again.

"It didn't do me any good, you know. Caitlin is out of my reach, and Marissa… She runs from me. I did so much for them, gave up so much for them." The hint of old venom colored her voice for a moment, "It was that boy's fault. Marissa was fine until that Chino boy showed up. That's when everything went wrong. She broke up with Luke Ward, she OD'd, the Oliver situation.

If he'd just never come here. He couldn't come back."

"And what about Seth, Julie? Why Seth?"

The tears that threatened fell, and Summer found herself with her arms full of a weeping Julie Cooper.

And all she could do was hold her. Hold her while she sobbed. She had been so sure that Julie was involved, wrote the letter that killed Seth. It was a drastic act, but Julie was more than capable of even more horrifying acts to protect her family. She had married Caleb, for God's sake.

"I didn't know, Summer. I didn't know he would be there. I told Caleb we should discourage Ryan from coming back. Protect Kirsten and Seth. I didn't know he would be there."

"You didn't write the letter?"

Pulling back, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse, Julie pulled herself together. "What letter?"

"Someone knew Seth would be there. They arranged everything."

Summer left the woman, still crying, in the kitchen and made her way to the den.

"Seth? Are you in here?"

The room was dim, the only light cast from the open doorway, but she could make out the dark shape of Seth against the shadows, and a paler form on the floor by the window.

"What did you do to him, Seth?"

"Nothing. I didn't lay a hand on him. I suppose this belies everyone assumptions. He had a heart, and it killed him."

"It wasn't Julie."

"What?"

"Someone wrote a letter for AJ. Said to 'use his discretion' when it came to Ryan, but to definitely kill whoever was with him. I thought Julie wrote it, but she didn't. Julie didn't know you would be there, she didn't know anyone would be there."

Her eyes now accustomed to the darkness, Summer could see him more clearly. The pale moonlight drifting thought the window made his skin glow, and his eyes shone dark and damp.

"_She_ knew. She knew because I told her."

(_12345_)

**Note**: So, what do you think? I managed to knock out three chapters in a week-end, and according to my beta, they're pretty good. There are only a few more to go, so, let me know how you're liking it.

Seriously, review. I'm a complete whore for attention.


	13. Lace

**Disclaimer:** I don't own a gee-darn thing. 'Cept my spiffy new laptop. 

(_12345_)

**ANNIVERSARY**

**Chapter 13- LACE**

_Look, I know you're worried, but I wanted to let you know he'll be home soon. No, I didn't tell them- Nobody knows, it's a surprise. But I thought you would want to know… a few hours. We need to get some things from Theresa's… Yeah, I figured I needed to grow up a little, come home… after everyone told me to. So wait at my house, or the pool house. You can surprise him, but in the good way, not the creepy stalker way… Okay? See you soon, Marissa._

(_12345_)

The house was dead silent. Julie's weeping had long since faded into alcoholic slumber, and Caleb was just plain dead.

Thelayout was different, but Marissa's bedroom was in the same place, first left after the stairs, and Summer's feet followed a familiar path over strange floors.

She tried to stay calm on the outside, but if the heat in her cheeks was any indication, she probably gave away their presence with the glow.

He'd called Marissa.

Not his parents, not her, but Marissa.

He had the best of intentions, but then Cohen always had. And they didn't work out.

She tried to swallow the anger, looking over at him, pale and spare in the pale moonlight seeping through diaphanous curtains, dry blood a stark black contrast to white skin.

She knew what the gesture had cost him, cost Ryan. She knew he had no idea what would happen, and in another part of her brain she understood that she would have done the same thing, not knowing.

Summer hadn't had a rage blackout in years. The last quiet moments, feverish hot, then nothing. Waking up on the floor in the center of destruction. When her mother left she destroyed three rooms in her home and broke her father's arm. She was ten. Everything she knows about that night came from a police report. Years of therapy and learning to avoid stressful situations had stopped them, but she felt one coming on now. Felt the sudden rush of heat curl through her abdomen, warm like the gun they'd left in the car. Sparkles danced in the corner of her eye, pale white and at first she thought it was just Seth, but she knew better.

Pausing on the stairs, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes. She couldn't let it happen tonight.

She wanted to remember everything.

(_12345_)

The security floodlights outside reflected off of the pool and into the room through balcony doors, throwing everything into sharp relief, black and amber. Summer could just make out the mural of Paris, painstakingly painted on the wall of Marissa's room in her father's house, now recreated to the last detail.

She'd handled the tools that night, feeling the thrill of the nail gun, of building something, and watching Cohen trace the delicate lines of a pastel sunset over the bare wall.

She'd slept with Cohen that night, in her own room. It wasn't the first time she'd had sex, or the first time they'd had sex, and in that sense, it wasn't a big deal at all. For the children of the rich and oblivious, sex was the equivalent of a handshake.

But it was the first time she'd made love, the first time she understood that the phrase meant more than a few steamy chapters in a romance novel.

The boy that held that paintbrush, that blushed and stuttered at her innuendoes, that remembered stupid little unimportant vital things; the boy that loved her, and the boy that she loved.

Summer caught a sharp, shuddering breath. She thought she was done with crying when she began planning, but he was beside her.

And he was dead.

And it was Marissa's fault.

She watched Seth move further into the searching darkness, but she was frozen in the doorway, and she felt, more than heard a familiar presence behind her.

"So it worked, huh? Nice."

Summer had never noticed before how flat Marissa's voice was. Even when the girl was upset, it never changed tone. Should that have been a clue?

"I don't see any birds in here, though. I'm pretty sure there's supposed to be something. Something to tie him here."

Summer turned slowly, every muscle fighting the impulse, expecting her friend to be different now, a monster, and hoping Seth would stay out of sight. Wherever he was.

But she was the same, still beautiful and empty.

"What's that phrase again? 'Achilles heel?' So, I'm assuming you brought him back. Well, he brought himself back, but you were right there with him. Where is my ex-boyfriend? Ryan? Are you in here? I hate to be cliché, but come out, come out, wherever you are."

Finally facing Marissa, Summer saw her reach over to the shelf, artfully arranged stylish books and knick-knacks, and pluck something hard and shining from a niche.

The night was full of guns.

"Hey Sum, do you know it was pure dumb luck that let me trip over your little plot? Well, that and Seth. A couple of his old comics stashed away in a box in the attic. I was looking for antiques and found these.

It figures Ryan would come back, all angst and wounded. If he didn't come back for Theresa, he came back for revenge on his little boyfriend. So where is he?"

"He's not here," a warm voice came rolling out of the darkness and Summer could have smiled, could have laughed, but she didn't dare let go. Her control was too tenuous now, too close to the edge, and she really did want to see what would happen.

Marissa did smile, and raised the gun from where she had been holding it, loose at her side. "Seth? Seth Cohen, is that you? Well, this is a surprise. I did not expect you to come back, all thirsty for vengeance."

"Ryan was too tired to fight. I never had the chance."

The voice was closer now, but Summer couldn't tear her eyes away from the gun in Marissa's hand, the muzzle spastically flickering from side to side. There was a light in the other girls eyes that Summer had never seen before. Or never admitted seeing.

"So this has to be exciting, huh? Back from the dead… A dark hero on a quest for revenge. Are you excited?" There was a sharp edge of hysteria in Marissa's voice, and her hand trembled. Whether it was from nerves or the weight of the gun, Summer wasn't sure.

"So, is this where I'm supposed to tell you my evil plan?"

"He should have called me. Or his mother," Summer's control wasstarting to slip, "Or anybody, called us and let us know he was coming home, that they were coming home. But he didn't. Because he's a boy, and boys are stupid. Because he's Cohen, and Cohen's stupid. Was stupid. So they called you. And you saw a chance. I have to say I'm a little surprised. Didn't think you were bright enough for a plot like this."

"That's your response? I have a gun and you're calling me stupid. I thought you were suicidal before, now I'm sure," Marissa's voice shook slightly, but her hand steadied and the muzzle of the gun was an unblinking eye on Summer, but the girl couldn't turn away. Cohen was still somewhere in the darkness.

"I guess I should have expected it, you might as well be a robot for all the emotion you've shown lately. Your sister is locked up at boarding school and she might as well have never existed, and the only time I've ever seen you upset is when you get drunk enough."

She could feel Seth now, even if she couldn't see him. A cool presence moving around her, standing behind Marissa both of the silhouetted in the doorway.

A cool, dry voice wisped out of the darkness.

"Look at the wall, Summer."

And she did. As much as she wanted to see what would happen, she didn't want to. This was her best friend, or had been. Summer wasn't sure how long they hadn't been friends, but for the sake of their history she wouldn't watch.

Well, she would try.

"Marissa, did you know that Crows never come back for themselves? It's true. There's always someone else involved, someone who didn't deserve the death they were given. We carry the weight of that pain, of that death, with us. And then we come back.

Do you know how Ryan felt when he found out the baby was dead? He was broken, and he was relieved. He was almost happy because he could come home. Home to his family, home to you. And he felt guilty about that, because he was a good person, a nice boy who would have been a good man.

Do you know what his problem was? What it always was? There were too many people like you in it. Too many people like me, people who needed to be saved from something, and he couldn't stop himself."

Seth's voice grew softer, more intimate. Summer couldn't stop herself from turning, slightly.

The boy's pale fingers wrapped around Marissa's hand, his thumb on her forefinger, around the trigger, as he raised the gun.

"Do you know what is last words were, as we were laying on the grass? Did you know that he couldn't even open his eyes? And he apologized to me. He was bleeding and dying on Theresa's lawn, and he said, 'I'm sorry.' I couldn't say anything, didn't have anything to say, for once in my life because even then, even while he was falling apart out there, I still expected him to save me. And he said, 'It's my fault.'

And I never said a word.

And it's your fault.

Don't you feel bad, Marissa? Don't you hate yourself, down deep inside? Somewhere under your Mystic Tan?

Why, I'd bet that sometimes you just wish you were dead"

Gently, unstoppably, pale fingers wrapped around tan and guided a pistol up, angling it precisely.

(_12345_)

As they threw the body over the balcony, it splashed satisfyingly in the pool.

(_12345_)

**Note**: Well, this is usually where the apology goes, and this is no exception. Frankly, this chapter kicked my ass. I knew where I was going, but not how to get there. I've been writing and deleting for the last few months. (Plus, also super busy. My temp job became permanent in February and the hours were crazy for a while.)

If you liked this, please let me know, if you hated it, let me know that too. Also, if you have any questions.

There are two more chapters to go, mostly wrap-up stuff, so if you have a question about something say the word and I'll try to answer in the updates. Which I hope will come more quickly than this did.

Review like it's your job.


	14. Ivory

**Disclaimer: **Again, I don't own a gee-darn thing.

(_12345_)

**ANNIVERSARY**

**CH 14- IVORY**

Summer stood on the balcony, staring down into the amber-lighted pool, The body was a skinny black starfish on the water. Seth's presence at her side was not comforting, he wouldn't put an arm around her for support, not anymore, but it was bracing, steady.

So caught up in a swirl of thought and memories, she was startled by her own voice, small and sad in the expanse of the night.

"It's over."

Though he was next to her, Cohen's voice seemed to come from a long way off.

"Yes."

"And you're leaving." Not a question.

"Yes."

"Not yet. Please." Not a question.

"I can bring you home."

They got back into the car, after Seth removed the other gun from the front seat and threw it into the delicately manicured hedge at the border of the driveway. It wasn't that Summer didn't want to touch it. Well, not just that, but it would also be a stopping point for the police. Finding Cohen's fingerprints would be a 'dead end.'

Summer wanted to laugh at the horrible, _horrible_ pun, but laughing would turn to crying, and then she would collapse, would fall apart, the weak threads at the seams of her would tear, and she would be left in little pieces on the asphalt.

So she didn't laugh.

Without a word, she let Cohen lead her into the car, passenger seat. His hand seemed warmer, but maybe that was her, maybe she had a fever.

She traced the weak fingers of false dawn across the window pane, through the film of dew and humidity the evening had left.

They didn't talk, couldn't talk. He was leaving her, everybody, again. But it wasn't him. The cold pale boy that came back wasn't Cohen. The boy that broke AJ's fingers, gave Caleb a heart attack, and… punished Marissa. It wasn't Cohen. Cohen couldn't do that. She'd spent the night with a stranger, a killer, a ghoul that rose from the grave in front of her.

Suddenly, the black spots swam in front of her eyes, and she scratched at the door handle, the lock, nails splitting and tearing, blood on the leather.

The car swerved, and she could feel Cohen calling to her, begging her to stop, but she got the door open. Falling into space, she did what she had seen in the movies. She curled up into a ball.

Hitting the ground, she caught her breath, scrambled to her feet, and started to run.

Everything hurt, but nothing was broken, she wasn't broken.

But she was, on the inside, where a part of her didn't believe this. Didn't believe that Marissa and Caleb were dead, didn't believe that Seth had killed them, didn't believe that she had killed someone, didn't believe Seth had come back from the dead.

Some small idiot voice inside of her never believed Seth was dead, had died. It was waiting for her to wake up.

She woke up.

The car slowed to a stop in front of the Cohen's house and it had been her idea to come here, because he wasn't done yet.

"Seth, you need to come in."

So he did. With no fight, no argument, not one word and if that wasn't the striking point between her old Seth and this strange new one, then nothing was.

A new day was starting. It was still cool out, but there was the promise of bright sun and a long hot day behind the clouds. She thought it might be nice to get warm again.

The front door was unlocked, and low voices murmured in the kitchen. Theresa and Sandy. Summer suddenly wanted to be in that kitchen more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. Wanted to be with those people, people who knew what she had done, what she had been through, and would hold her anyway.

She watched as Theresa left the kitchen and went upstairs, making eye-contact with the girl. Theresa answered with a nod.

Inside the kitchen Sandy was leaning against the counter, coffee gripped tight in one hand, as he stared out at the pool house. He didn't turn when they entered, but asked just the same, "Is it done?"

Summer waited for Cohen to answer, but he seemed caught in the same view as Sandy, both of them staring out at something Summer couldn't see. So she answered for him, "It is. Tomorrow is going to be strange."

Theresa's voice sounded behind them, "Today. It's already today."

The men were still staring out the window. Neither noticed Theresa come back in the room with a baby in her arms.

Well, he wasn't really a baby anymore.

Summer knew the exact moment Cohen saw the boy, looked past the soft, tea brown skin and black curls to the eyes, as blue as the ocean, surrounded by thick lashes. The room was still.

"Is it his?"

A nod from Theresa.

"Can I hold him?"

Another nod and the baby was handed over, like the precious thing it was, part of Ryan that wouldn't die, a second chance.

Summer watched Cohen holding the baby, every eye in the room was on him. No one noticed the older woman come in until she spoke.

"We call him Zeke. Ezekiel Ryan Atwood," Kirsten stood in the entry of the kitchen, "Seth, is that you?"

Without looking up from the baby's eyes, he said, "Not really, not anymore."

Kirsten stood in the doorway of the kitchen, pale skin and hair framed in royal blue silk that made her eyes burn. Red rimmed and fierce, they burned like a mother's eyes never should. She looked like an angel.

She shook her had slowly, "That's bullshit, Seth."

Summer didn't respond to the profanity. In the months following the murders she'd heard worse from the Cohen woman, said worse in front of her, and if Kirsten wasn't more her mother than anyone else on Earth, then Summer didn't know who could be.

"You're my baby. My little boy, who I carried for nine months and two days. I think I know who you are."

Finally raising his gaze from the dark blue eyes of the baby in his arms, Seth stared at his mother.

Summer held her breath as he spoke, "I remember everything, you know, now. Being carried, being a baby, being raised. I remember feedings and diaper changes, I remember teething, and learning to walk, and first days of school and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

I remember everything.

I remember dying.

And then it didn't mean anything anymore. I was away, apart, and I didn't remember anything of life. Only that there was something to do. So I came back, and did it, and now I have to go."

Seth handed the baby back to Theresa. He slowly lowered his arms back to his sides, then silently walked towards the door.

Kirsten chased after him, wrapping her arms tightly around him, hands pressed against the skin of his hand, his face; eyes tight closed and breathing deep of the earthy scent of he buried son.

And Summer watched as Kirsten's eyes opened again, and her mouth, frozen in a scream.

_A baby boy, wandering through a strange world, growing older, growing taller, and everything beginning to make sense, making no sense as he grew into, towards, the adulthood he would never reach. Life, and love, and the light that all children held. _

_Days spent wandering across sand with his father, warm morning; wrapped in a blanket, and his mother's arms. A brother, and for the first time, a friend he could trust, could turn to, could talk to. Love, with a beautiful brown-eyed girl. _

_Arms open wide to a future full of the people he loved, _

_And then it ends. In fear, and pain, it ends. In sorrow, in tears on a grassy lawn, it ends._

_But it doesn't. Because there is still something there. The chance for peace, and one more job to do. The search for justice, but for vengeance. Vengeance that could not taint the living, the survivors. Justice that could be carried into death as it was from death._

With a gasp, Kirsten broke free, eyes glassy and startled. "Oh, my baby.."

"It's over now. I'm over now," Seth's voice was quiet, but serious. Summer wanted to shout denials, but there was nothing she could do.

"I have to go. I love you, and I'll see you, all of you, again, and I have to go."

Sandy wrapped his arms around Kirsten, and she turned in his embrace, resting her head against his chest. Theresa, still holding Zeke, had collapsed onto a kitchen chair, burying her face in curling black hair and clean baby smell.

And Summer just stared. Just watched, as the boy she loved, the boy she had loved, walked out of the house, and into the lightening day, and disappeared.

(12345)

Note: So, it's been a while, huh? Well, I'm afraid I haven't really wanted to write this chapter. See, this is the last real chapter. Next is a nice epilogue, and then we're done, and this story, ANNIVERSARY, is as dead as it's inspiration.

So, I offer up to you, a little… gift, I guess. I know this story hasn't always made sense, beginning as a fever dream, and written in fits and starts over a few years, so if you have any questions, or requests, or comments, please include them in any review you plan to make for this chapter. I'll answer them to the best of my ability in the last chapter, and possibly add a post-script, if necessary.

And now, if I can get a little emo for a moment. I was re-reading my old reviews and I got a little misty. It's hard to remember sometimes, when I'm fighting with characters and plotlines and everything else in my original work, that I can do this. I can put words on a screen that are worth reading. So, (And I swore I was going to save this for next chapter's notes.) I want to thank everyone who has read this story for your attention and for your patience, with delayed updates and scenes that took a chapter or two to make sense, with sarcastic asides and my early habit of bitching during scene breaks, and with the occasional typo that I actually hope you never caught

Just… Thank you for being interested. Okay sniffle I think I've got it under control. Just know that even if I never receive any reviews for this chapter, I appreciate all of you, and your willingness to put up with me.

And, as my eloquence has clearly deserted me, I'll go ahead and post this.


	15. Crystal

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own the OC, the Crow, or any characters or situations therein.

Dammit.

(_12345_)

**ANNIVERSARY CHAPTER 15- CRYSTAL**

_Dark brown eyes stared down into the shining clear water of the pool. _

_"I miss them."_

_A blue-eyed blond said, "I do too, but we'll see them again, someday."_

(_12345_)

Seth walked out of the kitchen, leaving his family, old and new behind him. Staring at the shuttered glass walls of the pool house, he walked towards the pool, one step, two, until there was no more ground beneath him and the water soaked through his pants to the skin and he was gone.

Summer watched him go, rushed out when she saw him fall in, but there was no body floating on the pale water, just a slow eddying current of some dark dust, some ash, some dirt, on the bright surface.

He was gone, again. And this time he wouldn't come back.

(_12345_)

Ryan was waiting when he got there. The blond boy was always waiting, the patient type. Ryan said nothing when Seth came in, just shifted over on the couch.

"I saw them."

Ryan nodded, eyes focused on the screen in front of them. "I know."

"Taciturn as always, huh? Is this one of those ineffable things, people in heaven always know what's going on on earth?"

"Nah. TV."

Looking at the screen, Seth saw a familiar house, with people milling around in it. Part of him knew those people, ached for them, but it was a distant sensation, a nostalgia.

"So you saw me?"

"Yeah."

"It's over."

"It's never really over," Ryan flipped the station to the X-Box screen, "Pirate game?"

"That's kind of minty," Seth said, but he took the controller anyway.

The sat in silence, playing. Sometimes Seth won, usually sparking some kind of victory dance, a lap around the living room accompanied by howls of triumph, and other times Ryan won, with a small smile the boy would accept Seth's grudging congratulations before queuing up a new game.

Time passed, without passing in this place, and after many years, though Seth and Ryan had no idea how many, Kirsten came, followed shortly after by Sandy. They embraced their boys hard, smiling sad smiles though their eyes stayed dry, there were no tears in this place.

Luke came later, muttering something about 'drunk bets' and Anna a while after.

Theresa came next, taking Ryan into a side room, they emerged later, hand in hand, smiling quietly, and then Summer, who dragged Seth away. They were seen later, mussed and grinning.

They spent the misty time together in the house that wasn't really a house, talking and laughing, playing games and playing around, sinking into the sensation of being a family, being whole.

They all knew there was another place, that their home was a 'waiting area' and they would have to move on, but no one really wanted to leave. Anna and Luke moved on first, smiling wistfully back at their friends, their family, before walking into the light. Theresa was next, kissing Ryan hard, and leaving, back straight and eyes dry.

Sandy and Kirsten left together, hand in hand the way they had lived most of their lives, they hugged their boys and told them to wait, wait for someone special.

Seth and Summer spent more and more time in each other's arms, and Ryan took to standing in the doorway of the house, staring out at the pool house. His time was coming, and all three of them knew it. He had been at peace for years, just waiting for the familiar faces.

Seth urged him to stay, to wait a little longer, and Ryan gave in, the way he always did.

Eventually another man came, an unfamiliar face. Tall and dark skinned, with hair brushing his cheeks, when he looked up, Summer gasped, laughed.

And introduced Zeke Esperanza-Atwood, to his father.

Two pairs of ocean blue eyes met, and Ryan smiled, grinned wider, brighter, than anything Seth had ever seen. Arm in arm, they both walked into the light together, talking about the past, their lives.

Seth watched them go, arms wrapped tight around Summer.

"Are we waiting for anyone else?"

"I think that's about it, Cohen."

"Then it's time to go."

As the mansion vanished behind them, Seth and Summer walked into the light, to heaven, to another life, they weren't sure, but they were together.

(_12345_)

**Note:** Okay, so this is the end. I got a little sappy there but I wanted a nice wrap-up. I've gotten a few reviews asking for a sex scene here or there, and I'm sorry but I couldn't oblige in this story as I thought it didn't fit. However I have a few ideas I will be writing for a two chapter postscript titled ANNIVERSARY: SILVER AND GOLD, so stay patient. I can't promise zombie!Seth!sex, but then again, you never know...

**Acknowledgement:** I want to thank all of the readers that have stayed with me for the duration of this story, even with the year-long gap. I honestly can't tell you how much your reviews and e-mails have meant to me. And I want to thank my beta/sister/best friend for all of her help and encouragement. Without her I never would have started posting fan fiction in the first place, and what a tragedy that would be. lol

For the last time, in this story at least, please review.


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